Teresa Medeiros (43 page)

Billy’s fingers twitched instinctively over the butt of his pistol, making Esmerelda shiver with dread. His pistol was loaded with nothing but harmless blanks, while Winstead’s could only contain live shells.

Billy took a step backward, revealing the precise moment he realized that same inescapable truth.

“Why don’t you run?” Winstead taunted. “I have no compunctions about shooting a yellow-bellied traitor in the back. I licked you white-trash southern boys once and I’ll do it again.”

“Oh, yeah,” Billy drawled. “You and what Union army?”

Esmerelda clapped a hand over her mouth, remembering the Union “soldier” at the masquerade ball. Dear God, Winstead must have been tracking Billy even then.

As Billy continued to back slowly down the street, the
crowd leaned forward in their seats, believing the unfolding drama was all part of the show.

Esmerelda looked frantically around. She couldn’t just stand by and let Billy be gunned down in cold blood. Virgil and Jasper were nowhere in sight, so she snatched up the loaded Colt .45 from the tea cart. But she was no Billy Darling. Her hands were shaking so hard she doubted she could hit the side of an elephant at point-blank range.

Winstead’s hands flexed over his gunbelt. Billy took another step backward, but he was utterly defenseless—a helpless target for a vengeful madman.

Esmerelda grabbed a handful of dimes in her other hand and raced into the mock street.

Billy’s name tore from her throat in a raw scream as she cast the dimes heavenward like a fistful of shimmering prayers. Distracted by their glitter, Winstead took his eyes off of Billy for a heartbeat.

That was all the time Esmerelda needed. She tossed the loaded gun at Billy. He caught it, cocked it, and fired, all in one smooth motion.

It was a clean shot. Right through Winstead’s thigh. He collapsed, clutching his leg and howling in pain.

The audience surged to their feet, applauding wildly and screaming for an encore. Virgil and Jasper came sprinting across the arena toward Winstead. They never had been able to tolerate anybody but them bullying their little brother.

Esmerelda never stopped running. She ran right into Billy’s outstretched arms. As he swept her up in his embrace, she buried her face in his sweat-dampened throat.

“You foolish, foolish girl,” he scolded, giving her a half-hearted shake even as he devoured her face with his lips. “What would you have done if he’d have fired at you?”

“Ducked?” she ventured before pressing her mouth to his for a fierce kiss.

They were still kissing when Drew came stumbling into the spotlight, gripping his head and wearing nothing but a pair of immaculately starched drawers.

“Damn, that sun is bright,” he muttered, sinking to his knees.

Esmerelda was shocked to see Anne come flying past them. Her aunt sank down beside Drew and gently cradled his head to her bosom, crooning in dismay.

“Don’t fret, lass,” he said, blinking up at her as if she were his guardian angel. “He didn’t hit me nearly as hard as you did.”

Esmerelda didn’t even realize that it wasn’t Billy but her grandfather stroking her hair until he murmured, “What a brave girl. What a smart girl. You do an old man proud.”

She turned her head to give him a look that was both hopeful and disbelieving. “I make you proud?” She nodded toward the tiers of benches, where people were beginning to point and nod and whisper behind their cupped hands as they realized they’d been witness to a genuine drama instead of a contrived one. “Even after causing such a scandal?”

Her grandfather beamed at her, his ruddy face aglow.
“Especially
after causing such a scandal.”

As she pressed a kiss to his bald pate, three men detached themselves from the crowd. Two wore Stetson hats and the badges of U.S. marshals while the other rather nondescript young man sported a felt bowler.

“Elliot Courtney!” Billy exclaimed, keeping his arm looped around Esmerelda’s waist. “What in the hell are you doing in London?”

“Tracking Thaddeus Winstead,” Courtney admitted ruefully, “with the help of Scotland Yard.”

“Well, there he is,” Billy said, pointing unnecessarily to the figure writhing in the hay at the far end of the street. Virgil was in the process of applying a tourniquet to his leg. Esmerelda figured he ought to be thankful it wasn’t his neck.

“Yes, we gathered that was him,” the Scotland Yard detective said dryly. “It’s Mr. Courtney’s belief that the man may have boarded your steamer in New York under an alias.”

Billy rubbed the back of his neck. “One of these days I’m going to learn to pay more attention to that feeling.”

“It seems you’ve earned the bounty on his worthless hide yourself,” Courtney said. “We’ve also been authorized to inform you that the judge has granted you full amnesty. You’re no longer a wanted man.”

“Oh, yes, he is,” Esmerelda said, refusing to loosen her own possessive grip on Billy’s waist.

Courtney exchanged a glance with his deputy before drawing something out of the pocket of his vest. It was another badge, just as shiny and official-looking as his. “The U.S. Treasury Department has also recommended that you be offered a job as a U.S. marshal. So what do you say, Darling? You’re just the kind of man we need.”

Esmerelda held her breath. She could never deny Billy his dream, not even if she needed him more than they did.

Billy glanced at Anne and Drew, who were still gazing into each other’s eyes with starry-eyed devotion. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn down your offer, gentlemen. There’s this little town in New Mexico that I hear tell has need of a sheriff. They say it’s a good place to raise a family.” He winked at Esmerelda. “At least if I have a passel of daughters, they’ll never lack for suitors.”

Esmerelda blinked back tears of joy. “If that’s a proposal, Mr. Darling, then I accept.”

He scowled at her. “Who said anything about marrying
you?
I got my heart set on this pretty little cousin of mine back in Missouri. She’ll make me a fine wife once she turns thirteen next year.”

Esmerelda’s mouth flew open. She stamped her foot and pointed an accusing finger at Billy. “Grandpapa, this man compromised me! I insist that you force him to marry me. At once.”

Her grandfather drew himself up to his most regal height. “You heard the girl, Darling. You can either choose your weapon and step outside in the street with me or you can marry my granddaughter.” He leaned forward to confide, “And I should warn you, son, that I was a wicked shot in my day.”

“Well, sir,” Billy looked Esmerelda up and down, heat simmering in his eyes, “if you insist.”

Esmerelda bounded back into his arms, squealing with triumph. “But I don’t understand,” she told him. “I thought being a U.S. marshal was your heart’s desire.”

He gave her a lazy smile that she felt all the way to her toes. “It was. Until the day you came marching into that saloon.”

As their lips brushed and lingered, Sadie came loping out to run in circles around them, woofing merrily. A group of eager reporters from the
Times
and the
Morning Post
clustered around them as well, pads and pencils at the ready.

“Is it true,” one of them shouted, “that tonight was your last night to be toasted as the ‘Darling of London’?”

Before Billy could reply, Esmerelda cupped his face between her hands. Although she addressed the reporter, her tender gaze was for Billy alone. “That’s right, sir. Because after tonight, he’s nobody’s darling but mine.”

Calamity, New Mexico, 1998

Esme Darling ventured deeper into the shadowy lair of the attic, shuddering when a low-hanging spiderweb tickled her face. She swept the beam of her standard issue Maglite across the floor, praying she hadn’t just seen something scuttle out of her field of vision. She’d never much cared for prey she couldn’t handcuff or read its rights.

She’d just about steadied her nerves when a strong, masculine arm snaked around her waist. She might have panicked if she hadn’t sucked in an enticing whiff of aftershave along with enough breath to scream.

“Jesus, Dix, I could have shot you,” she wailed, twisting around to smack the smirking detective on the upper arm. Even in her agitation, she couldn’t fail to appreciate the impressive bulge of bicep encountered by her palm.

“No, you couldn’t,” he said, holding up the pistol he’d
confiscated from her holster prior to grabbing her. His chocolate brown eyes sparkled with mischief.

Scowling, she retrieved her gun. “I’ll only forgive you for scaring me half to death if you’ll teach me that move later.”

He swept her into his arms for a playful kiss. “I’ll teach you any move you want to know. I never could resist a woman in uniform. Especially that cotton and polyester blend they make you rookies wear.” He frowned down at her. “The boys down at the precinct told me you had nerves of steel. So why are you so jumpy?”

She plucked a cobweb from his thick, dark hair. “Because I don’t like attics. Or spiders. Or smart-ass detectives who sneak up on you in the dark.”

“Then what are you doing up here? Isn’t it bad enough that you have to pull evening shift on Thanksgiving without you ducking out of dinner before your grandpa can cut the pumpkin pie?”

She made a face. “I hate pumpkin pie. You know perfectly well the only kind of pie I’ll eat is peach.”

“How could I forget? The first time I saw you, you were snout-first into a fresh-baked one at the department picnic. When I reached for that last piece, I thought you were going to take off a couple of my fingers.”

She brought his thumb to her lips for a teasing nip. “I still might.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmured.

She twined her fingers through his and led him through the cluttered maze of mislabeled boxes, outdated appliances, and abandoned toys. His height forced him to duck under some of the lower beams.

“You arrived just in time, Detective. I was about to do some sleuthing of my own. You can’t inherit a name like Esmerelda Darling and not be just a little curious about
your ancestors.” She smiled wryly. “Especially not ancestors as colorful as mine.”

“Oh, come on. According to your grandmother, every Darling since the beginning of time has been born to the badge. When Adam and Eve got kicked out of Eden, one of your ancestors was probably waiting outside to arrest them for destroying public property.”

Esme snorted. “Grandma Anne is a bit of a revisionist when it comes to family history. I bet she didn’t tell you this house was once a brothel or that this attic was the very room where my great-great grandmother lost her virginity to that notoriously wicked outlaw, Billy Darling.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Your grandmother was a hooker?”

“Of course not. Billy Darling ended up being my grandfather. We Darlings don’t have skeletons in our closet. We have gunslingers.” She spun around to flutter her eyelashes at him. “I should warn you, sir, that the women in my family have always had a weakness for outlaws.”

Dix immediately turned serious. “Did I ever tell you about my time in prison?”

She squinted up at him. “You’re pulling my leg. Felons aren’t eligible for the police academy.”

“I never said I was a felon. I egged the mayor’s house on Halloween when I was thirteen and spent three hours in the county lockup.”

“Oooooh,” she crooned, pursing her lips in an inviting pout. “You were a
very
bad boy. I may just have to take you in.”

Growling beneath his breath, Dix leaned forward. Before their lips could touch, Esme whirled around and scampered deeper into the attic. She might have enjoyed the last laugh if her flashlight hadn’t chosen that moment to flicker and go out.

“Dix?” she whispered on a quavering note.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he replied, the touch of his hand on her shoulder calming her fears.

Frowning, Esme tapped the Maglite against her thigh. “That’s weird. I’ve never had it do that before.”

“Hang on just a sec.”

Hunching his broad shoulders to squeeze them beneath the eaves, Dix tore one of the rotting slats off the window, letting in a golden stream of sunshine.

Crouched in the farthest reaches of the attic was a lone leather trunk. With the dust motes drifting around it in a sparkling cascade, there was something almost magical about the sight. Esme’s breath caught in childlike wonder.

She sank down cross-legged on the floor in front of the trunk, so enchanted by her discovery that she forgot all about the dust and the spiders and the occasional squeak coming from the corners. Dix squatted behind her, peering over her shoulder.

As she reached to lift the lid, she was surprised to realize her hands, legendary around the precinct for their steadiness, were trembling.

A crumpled gown, carefully folded, but poorly preserved, was the first thing she saw.

“A wedding dress,” she whispered, stroking the fragile fabric.

The ivory silk shattered at her touch, but the veil was still strong enough to endure being picked up and gently draped over her hair. A faint aroma, sweet and strangely familiar, drifted to her nose. The creamy lace fluttered around her face like angel wings.